The Nameless Prince
by Julia451
Summary: One-shot. How the people of the Fire Nation learned the name of "the prince" when he was thirteen-years-old.


_**Author's Note: **__I found it interesting that Doug Walker (the new Roger Ebert), in his current __**Avatar: The Last Airbender Vlogs**__ series, called "the prince" his "favorite character" but didn't start calling him "Zuko" until his review of Episode 12, long after he learned everyone else's names. That gave me this idea..._

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The day Prince Ozai was crowned Fire Lord was the first time half the citizens of the Fire Nation learned that he had children. There was no reason to be curious about the younger prince's family before that day; Prince Iroh and his son Lu Ten were the ones who would eventually ascend to the throne, after all – the ones with whom soldiers and officials needed to be concerned and whom schoolchildren needed to learn about. All that changed following the sudden death of Fire Lord Azulon, when the future of the nation and its people's attention were steered in an entirely different direction.

Over the next few years, the people heard much about Ozai's daughter, the princess Azula. They learned she was a prodigy, a strong warrior and a fierce Firebender who would be an invaluable asset to her father's court someday. Reports of her achievements and skills increased every day, from her incredibly early mastery of Lightningbending to her regular presence in the Fire Lord's war chamber. It was hardly surprising that the Fire Lord favored and regarded his daughter as highly as he did, and, of course, it only seemed natural to everyone else to do likewise. One could hardly take three steps at the royal court without hearing new praise of Princess Azula or go three minutes without saying her name.

As for Ozai's son, everyone went as long as they could without mentioning him. Although he was the heir to the throne, he was a disappointing one – he must be, for the Fire Lord himself considered him a disgrace and a failure and disliked nothing more than to be reminded of his existence. It was an unspoken rule at court never to mention the prince in his father's presence (except in mockery or as a reference to Azula's superiority) or, indeed, in the presence of anyone on whom you wanted to make a good impression. The only discussions about the prince were brief, whispered repetitions of his weakness and inferiority and what a shame it was that the Fire Lord had been burdened with such a pathetic son.

The people would have forgotten the prince entirely if they could, but as the high demand of disdain for him made this impossible, they compromised – they forgot his name. To remember his name was to imply he was worth learning about, worth thinking about, worth paying attention to, and no one who valued his future would suggest that about the prince. There was nothing about him worth knowing. To acknowledge and lament his existence was as far as anyone's generosity ought to extend. The distinction of a name was too good for him. He was always "the prince."

It wasn't until he was thirteen that the time came when the prince rather than Azula was the dominant topic of conversation for the day. From servant to servant, from guard to guard, from house to house, the news spread. The official notices posted the next day were hardly necessary. It was all anyone could talk about: the prince had been banished. Many shrugged, said it had been inevitable for years, and were only surprised that the Fire Lord hadn't done it long ago. Most bid him good riddance and stood by to hear when Princess Azula would officially be declared next in line for the throne.

Others wondered in dismay what someone so harmless and insignificant could have done to warrant such extreme measures. He had offended the Fire Lord in his own war chamber – that was the explanation spoken on street corners, in drawing rooms, around banquet tables, in the hallways and courtyards of the palace. It was treason to discuss it any further; those who had witnessed it firsthand were forbidden to speak of it, but word leaked out, as it always does, and the rest of the story was told, always beginning and ending with a warning never to speak of it again, but told nonetheless – whispered in the dark corners of taverns, behind locked doors, in servants' quarters, in close friends' ears.

It was after they learned the whole story behind the prince's banishment that they were finally able to remember his name was Zuko.


End file.
